


A Little Death

by kallistob, MercurialTenacity



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Battle, Biting, Blood Drinking, Childe/Sire Bond(s), Cuddling & Snuggling, Dueling, Emotional Manipulation, Falling In Love, Fledgling Percival, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, M/M, MACUSA | Magical Congress of the United States of America, Multiple Orgasms, Murder, Near Death Experiences, Nightmares, Nipple Play, Rough Kissing, Sire Grindelwald, Smut, Stalking, Submission, Tina tries hard, Vampire Sex, Vampire Turning, Vampire!Grindelwald, Verbal Fights, inappropriate use of wandless magic, public fight, vampire instincts, vampire!Graves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-02 14:10:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12728082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/pseuds/kallistob, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialTenacity/pseuds/MercurialTenacity
Summary: Someone is following Graves. Everywhere. Within MACUSA, in the busy streets of New York, past the protected walls of his own house. He has no means to stop it.When they attack, in broad daylight in front of everyone, Graves fights back. But he was never meant to win.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Kallistob : We've had this in the works for like........... months. lmao, we hope you will enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it >:]  
> This is going to be a long fic, so buckle your seatbelts kids, things are about to get vampiric.

Someone is following him.

Graves knows this, as surely as he knows the halls of MACUSA or the names of his aurors.

He doesn’t know who, and he doesn’t know why, but he knows - he’s being followed.  He has no proof, nothing to bring to Picquery or his aurors, but he has years of experience and his instincts, and he has no doubt.

It’s the wrong cadence of footsteps behind him on the street, the too silent night as he unlocks his front door.  No matter what he does he can’t shake it - he’s followed to work, on his errands, home again.  Someone is watching him, and someone is studying him.

They never seem to pass MACUSA’s doors.  He’s followed to work and he’s followed home, but inside MACUSA is a refuge, and he finds himself seeking it out with evermore urgency.

Until one day it’s not.

He knows instantly that something is wrong.  His shadow isn’t waiting for him at the door, it’s inside now, he knows it.  It’s there, somewhere in the press of people flooding through the lobby on a weekday morning, somewhere in the crowd.  Graves stops, feeling danger, feeling a threat, and he looks around through the sea of people filing in for work, and he sees nothing.  The crowd jostles him and he moves on, feeling no more at ease.

He doesn’t understand how he could be followed inside MACUSA. There are a dozen different charms and hexes serving as wards on the outside of the building alone, and the idea that his aurors wouldn’t notice something wrong in their midst is absurd.

Yet the uneasy feeling doesn’t leave him all morning.

It sits in his office with him and watches him work. It accompanies him during training, a shadow, standing still on one side of the room as he corrects Watson’s posture. When he goes to see Picquery at the end of the day he hopes he will be left alone, and for a minute he is. The feeling flickers at the door as Percival steps in her office and he's able to breathe a little easier.

There are eyes on him the whole time he stays with the President, but no matter where Percival looks he can't see anything of interest other than the dark walls of Picquery’s office.

“Focus or go home, Mr. Graves,” Picquery says. “You're distracted.”

“Yes,” Percival agrees - then jerks as he notices _something_ behind her. The air is different. Blurred, fogged, the same as when you're looking at the world through the smoke of a candle. It forms a vague shape behind her, something that could almost be called human, and Percival swallows and stands up. Picquery is oblivious. He needs to go. Whoever - or whatever - this is, they're after _him_ , and he can't put the President in danger.

He makes his excuses and leaves her office quickly, leaving her perhaps annoyed or disappointed with him, but safe.  He has no doubt that he is followed all the long way back to his own office, and his heart pounds in his chest with every step.

He locks and wards the door behind him. The feeling is back, smothering him, and Graves grips his wand tightly, bracing himself and  straightening like the leader he is.

“Show yourself,” he orders, voice tight and controlled, loud in the empty space around him. “I know you're here. What do you want?”

He thinks he hears a chuckle, but that could be his anxious mind. He does not, however, imagine the hand suddenly pressing down on his shoulder. Graves wheels around, a curse on the tip of his tongue and heart hammering in his chest only to blink because _there's no one here._ Worse, the feeling is gone entirely. He is truly alone, for perhaps the first time in weeks.

He doesn't understand.

His eyes catch on something on his desk - a piece of parchment, the one he was writing his report on earlier.

Something has changed, but he doesn't know what.

Carefully, slowly, he approaches his desk and  levitates the parchment in front of his face, making sure not to touch it. A flick of his wand and it starts revolving slowly, allowing Graves to examine it from every angle.

His notes are gone. The paper is blank, save for three little words written in cursive, dripping ink on paper almost mocking Graves in its sloppiness:

_Who am I?_

As soon as Graves reads the words they start to fade at the same time as the edges of the paper darken, slowly turning to ash in front of Graves’ eyes.

_You'll find out soon enough._

The new sentence burns itself across the page, and the parchment's remains turn to dust before they hit the pristine floor.

Graves is left pale and shaking in the face of a danger he already knows is stronger than him. But he's the Director of Magical Security. He has no choice but to survive.

\--

He's alone for the remainder of the day.  He doesn't understand the logic behind this, what would cause someone to play with him like this - as though it were a game, and as though they believed there was no way he could win.

He summons his best investigators to his office, but they find nothing.  It would help if Graves could tell them what to look for, but he can't.  He has only ash and his own certainty.  He tightens security around MACUSA, but he doesn't give any specific reasons why.  He has the cold feeling that none of it will help.  He's the one being targeted, it's time for him to do his job and put an end to it.  He can't have this force, whatever it is, hurting any of his people to get to him.

His respite doesn't last.

When the feeling comes back it is stronger than ever, and Graves knows it is only a matter of time before the darkness reveals itself. He hurries home from work, hurries from home to MACUSA, his footsteps echoing on the marble floor as he tries to go through each day while ignoring the cold dread mounting within himself, burying its claws inside his heart and slowly making him paranoid.

At night he lays in bed, open eyes staring at the ceiling and he asks the force to cease this game and reveal itself. He gets no reply. Each time he asks, the feeling leaves and Graves believes he’s safe until it starts all over again. It seeps under the door of his office, curls around him at night while Graves twists in his bedsheets and clouds him when he’s neither at work nor home.

He stops asking. He stops, eventually, begging. Instead he waits.

And when it finally happens, Graves feels almost relieved.

Almost.

If it weren’t for the face of the man standing in front of him, his curved lips revealing the delicately sharp teeth of a vampire.

Graves steps back, raising his wand, his hands shaking. Grindelwald merely smiles.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Graves says, “You almost drove me insane.”

“ _You_ almost drove me insane,” Grindelwald whispers in the dark. His breath fogs the air in front of him. “Do you have any idea how appealing you are, Mr. Graves?”

“Step back,” Graves says sharply before firing a first curse at the vampire. Grindelwald doesn’t move. The light hits him and he merely stumbles back a few steps before straightening up again.

“You and I both know that this is useless.”

 _“Expecto Patronum!”_ Graves rasps, waiting for the bright, familiar shining light of the wolf to protect him. But his wolf fails to appear, and when he looks at the alley again Grindelwald is gone.

Graves disapparates.

-

His encounter with Grindelwald turns the MACUSA upside down. Graves increases security again, trains his Aurors until they’re almost begging for death and he drills them all on vampires, what the world knows about them.

He sends a letter to one Newton Scamander and asks him to come to New York to share what he knows about these creatures. Quickly, the word - and the fear - spreads. _Grindelwald is a vampire._

“People are panicking,” Picquery says to him one night. “Maybe that’s exactly what he wants.”

“Maybe.” Graves is quiet.

“Has he appeared to you again?”

“No,” Graves shakes his head. “But sometimes - I can feel him. It’s almost like he’s hesitating. Waiting. I wish I knew what for.”

For a moment the only sound is the fire crackling in front of them, casting shadows on the walls of Picquery’s office.

“Be careful, Percival.”

“I will try,” Graves says, finishing his drink in one long swallow, even though he already knows he’s lost.

-

He knows it. As surely as he knows the familiar feeling creeping up his spine, the ghost of fingers touching the base of his neck and softly stroking his skin.

“What do you want?” he murmurs as he lays in bed. The fingers retreat, and Grindelwald’s face flickers to life in front of him - a shift so subtle and fast, followed by words said so softly Graves might believe he’s dreaming.

“I’m trying not to give in,” Grindelwald says, thumb touching Graves’ lower lip. “It's the hardest task I've had to face in years.”

Interesting, Graves can admit that. “What does that mean?”

Grindelwald smiles, eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Sleep well, Mr. Graves.”

He’s gone.

Graves shivers. He wraps the blanket tighter around himself, curls up in his bed and holds onto the wand hidden under his pillow. For the rest of the night he tries to find the sleep which eludes him, jumping out of his reach as if Graves were the predator and slumber the prey.

He falls over the edge of exhaustion around three am, and the next day he’s late for work for the first time in years.

That morning Mr. Scamander gives a conference about vampires, which only serves to make them all learn that the fight is hopeless.

“When you meet one,” Scamander says, restlessly walking across the stage, “The _safest_ thing to do is willingly offer them your blood and hope they’ll let you live. It calms them and works, most of the time.”

“What about the other times?” Someone asks in the crowd, and Scamander grimaces.

“Then you try to fight them the best you can with what you’ve learned. But as they are superior to us in every way, there is very little chance that you’d win no matter how powerful you are.”

“So there’s no hope?” Goldstein asks.

“I did not say that.” Scamander catches Graves’ eyes. “One vampire against an army of Aurors is outnumbered, no matter how strong he is. Learn to fight them and know them. Work together rather than alone. None of Grindelwald’s followers are, to our knowledge, vampires. We have a chance.”

“Why is that, Mr. Scamander?” Graves asks. “Why wouldn’t he put all odds on his side and build an army?”

“You tell me. I don’t know him as well as you do, Mr. Graves. I’m just a magizoologist.”

“Still,” Graves insists. “You must have an opinion.”

“Yes. And if I were to give it, I’d say that a man like him - proud and powerful - would probably consider vampirism a gift rather than a curse. And thus, if he chooses to turn someone, the person has to deserve it.  He wouldn’t pick anyone out of a crowd. He’d take his time. Someone has to hold his interest. His followers are few and scattered across Europe and America - there have been, so far, no sightings of Grindelwald accompanied by one man or two or even three anywhere he goes. He doesn’t seem to have a second in command, or any close followers. Which doesn’t surprise me, as vampires are solitary creatures. Does that answer your question?”

“It does,” Graves inclines his head, fingers tightening around the scarf he holds in his lap. “Thank you.”

Graves tries to project the confidence he knows his aurors need to see from him but he feels as though the floor has dropped out from under him, leaving him dizzy and dangerously adrift.

_Someone has to hold his interest._

Grindelwald has been following him for months now. He's been watching him. Appraising him. Almost as if he’d become one with Graves’ shadow. Was that what Grindelwald had meant by _trying not to give in?_  Does Grindelwald want to turn him? To what purpose? To make Graves his?

Can Graves stop him?

A dozen questions rise on his tongue that he doesn’t dare ask and the briefing moves on, leaving Graves to the horror of his own thoughts.

He can’t bear to simply wait for it, to sit by while Grindelwald makes up his mind about whether or not to ruin him - but he doesn’t know what else to do.  He’s tried to fight Grindelwald every way he knows how, with curses and wards and every magical device known to him, and Grindelwald merely sits at his bedside and strokes his cheek, biding his time.

And if Grindelwald decides not to turn him - if he doesn’t deem Graves _worthy_ of such a gift, what of him then?  Will Grindelwald leave? Will he kill him? Graves can’t believe Grindelwald would simply let him go, not after all this. He must have a bigger plan - and Graves has the sickening thought that one way or another, his life as he knew it has already ended.

-

When Grindelwald finally reveals himself, people don’t notice him.

Graves had been expecting him. He’d been expecting him as he unwove the wards around his door each night when he came home, he’d been expecting him in the new murder case they found last week, in the dark alleys he walks in the evening to get to a safe apparition point.  

Grindelwald is unpredictable.

Graves is so used to the threat of him hanging over his head like a Damocles sword that he doesn’t feel the change until it’s too late. Grindelwald doesn’t come for him in the dark. He comes for him in broad daylight.

Graves is talking to Tina in the hall of the MACUSA, below the great clock. Its hand has been stuck on emergency for at least a month, and Graves suppresses a sigh each time he passes in front of it. Tina hands him her unofficial report on the Second Salemers as per his request, and Graves thinks that it’s a shame to have her on probation in the Wand Permits departement for so long when she’s one of his most valuable Aurors.

She talks while Graves peers at her notes before he looks up at her, intending to congratulate her on the work - but his words die in his throat when he sees her face.

“Tina…?”

That’s all the time he gets before slender fingers close around his throat from behind, and Graves knows it's _him_.

The Director makes a strangled sound of surprise, his hands flying to his neck. Grindelwald merely kisses his earlobe, his teeth scraping against the skin. He shudders helplessly, cold dread filling his still beating heart. He’d thought that Grindelwald was coming for him. He’d known it. But he -

He doesn't want to die.

“Get away from him!” Tina yells, holding the both of them at wandpoint - unwilling to shoot when she might hurt Graves in the process. Her scream attracts the attention of everyone around them, and Graves wishes it didn’t - he doesn’t want to put them in danger. But he still wants to be saved.

There's a moment of silence before people recognize who exactly is holding Graves in his arms - Grindelwald’s wand pressed to Graves’ temple, a slow smirk pulling at his lips - and then the MACUSA erupts into chaos.

Graves tries to breathe, tries to think past the panic taking hold of his mind. What did Scamander say about vampires?  An army of aurors against one vampire - they should have a chance, shouldn’t they?  The hall is full, surely they can fight, organize themselves -

There's a ringing in Graves’ ears, and when it fades he realizes no one around him is moving.  

Grindelwald lets him go and Graves stumbles in front of him, gasping, one hand over his throat to protect it. He wheels around to face his enemy, wildly looking around for support, back up - but no one is moving.

Tina’s mouth is open, the tip of her wand glowing with an as yet unspoken spell, which will never be cast. Graves looks at the stairs and sees Seraphina, her expression twisted in something that looks like fear, her foot half lowered towards the next step.

A woman’s cup of coffee is frozen in the air, contents inches away from spilling on the floor. Someone else seems to have been caught in the middle of an Animagus transformation, and Graves turns away from the sight, feeling nauseous. The clock above them has stopped ticking.

It’s like Grindelwald has stopped time itself to do with Graves as he pleases. It’s a frozen scene of madness all around him, and nobody can help him.

But he’s the Director of Magical Security, Graves reminds himself as he straightens up slowly. He shouldn’t need help, he shouldn’t need to be saved.  He can still fight, and he will.

Grindelwald is smiling, surveying the scene around them with amusement, and he glances at Graves’ own raised wand, looking unimpressed.

“Do you think you can beat me?”

“I don’t have a choice,” Graves says, and opens fire without further preamble - only to reel back as Grindelwald lazily levitates a frozen person in front of him to take the blow. Graves’ spell was just a Stupefy, but it hits the defenseless wizard with a vengeance. Graves sees the red glow around their body, the way their eyes roll into their sockets despite Grindelwald’s body bind, and he is furious.

“You bastard,” he rasps, shaking. “You fucking coward. Fight me!”

“That’s not what I came here for,” Grindelwald says calmly. “And you know it.”

Graves shakes his head, attempting to deny it to himself even as he knows it’s true.  Grindelwald is going to try to take him, here, in front of all of them.

“They can all see and hear us, you know.  Everything that happens, they’re watching. They just can't move.”

“Leave these people out of it,” Graves says, hating the edge of desperation to his voice.

“Mr. Graves,” Grindelwald purrs, “this is an important moment - for the both of us.  Don’t you want your friends to see it? Don’t you wish to tell them how you _knew_ this was going to happen? Don’t give up on me now. You’ve been so brave. It’s only right that I give you a reward.”

Graves doesn't reply, his magic weaving a shield around the both of them, protecting everyone else from harm.  Then he fires again, refusing to admit defeat so easily. He is the Director of Magical Security, he is a man with pride and unforeseen amounts of power, and he knows how to use them _._

Either Percival Graves dies fighting or he kills, but he does not surrender.

-

The sun is falling outside.

Graves has become one with pain. His chest burns, his limbs are heavy, his voice has become a mere rasp.

And all the while Grindelwald merely bats his spells away. He doesn’t even use his wand, and Graves starts to wonder if the man even needs it or if it was for show, solely used to pretend he was human. But each time Graves falls he reminds himself of his duties, of what Grindelwald plans for him and he finds the strength to rise again and fight, just a little bit more, just a little longer. There's wetness at the corners of his mouth and Graves doesn't know whether it is sweat, blood or tears.

He continues. He keeps going.

When he’s forced to pause for breath Grindelwald seems to tire of the game. The vampire has barely broken a sweat when Graves’ knees give out under him and his wand clatters to the floor.

“Are you done?” Grindelwald asks, and Graves lets out a sound which might be a sob.

Grindelwald advances towards him, fingers curling under Graves’ chin, and he pulls him up.  He holds Graves close, pressed against his own body, and Graves can do nothing to push him away.  His eyes catch Tina’s over Grindelwald’s shoulders. She is frozen, but Graves sees the plea in her eyes.

_No, God, please no, not him -_

Graves wishes he could reassure her.

He clings to Grindelwald’s arms and pushes him away - weakly, but the intent is there. He scrambles back, trying to get up on shaking legs, and Grindelwald shakes his head before approaching him again. “This is futile. You know how this will end.”

“No,” Graves says, hating how pitiful his voice sounds. “No. Get away from me.”

Grindelwald hums.  “It’s a little late for that now.  Didn’t you tell them how I sit with you at night?  Stroke your hair as you fall asleep?  How you let me.”

Graves shakes his head wordlessly, somewhere between denial and dismay.

“This has been a long time coming, Mr. Graves.  Neither of us can fight it. I, for one, have waited long enough to _taste you.”_

Graves wants to say he’s wrong.  He wants to scream it, if he’s going to die he needs all of them to know that he didn’t want this, he would never want this.

The words lodge in his throat and stick there.  How many nights had he spent under Grindelwald’s soft touch, unseen fingers stroking his skin, the barest hint of breath against his neck?  He’d fought it, he had, but for how long?  He doesn’t know how long it was before he realized he couldn’t stop it, and he doesn’t know how long after that he stopped trying, but it wasn’t long enough.  He’d become resigned to it, and it became familiar - in the end, almost soothing.

He shakes his head again desperately as Grindelwald approaches him once more, and despair pierces his heart.  He always knew what Grindelwald intended.  If he was going to fight this, he would have done it a long time ago.  

But he doesn’t _want_ it.

“Don't,” he says. “Please.”

“Hush now,” Grindelwald murmurs as he gathers Graves into his arms. His hands rub over Graves’ back soothingly, as if Graves were something precious and Grindelwald didn’t intend to break him just yet. “You’re overreacting. It’ll be over soon, I promise. Let me take care of you - I can even make it good, you know that.”

“I - no,” Graves whimpers. “I never asked you for anything. I don’t want it - I don’t want you!” Graves shoves weakly at Grindelwald’s chest, but he can do nothing to escape his embrace.  Grindelwald may be gentle but he’s firm, immovable, and Graves is trapped in his arms, too weak and tired to fight.

Grindelwald merely hums, ignoring Graves’ protests and placing featherlight kisses over the skin of Graves’ neck.

“No,” Graves sobs. “God, no, please -”

Grindelwald’s grip tightens around him, caging Graves in even as he keeps battling Grindelwald’s persistence.

“ _No!_ ”

“Sssh,” Grindelwald says, low and dark. Graves can practically hear the lust in his voice, the hunger, and he tries to twist his body to get away but it’s useless. He needs help, he can’t do it alone.

Graves’ eyes find the people all around them as Grindelwald deepens the kisses with lips and tongue, and he feels panic rising in his chest.

“Help me,” he croaks out, willing for something - _anything_ \- to disrupt Grindelwald’s focus. His eyes meet Tina’s again and he can’t help the tears rolling down his cheeks at how utterly helpless they all are.

They were fools. He was a fool. This will happen, Grindelwald will get what he wants and no one is coming to save him.

“Would you prefer this to be painful or pleasurable?” Grindelwald murmurs in his ear.

Graves’ mind is reeling as he clings to Grindelwald’s shoulders.  How can he possibly make a choice like that?  He refuses to give in, he won’t let his last human moments be spent asking Grindelwald to make it feel good - he can’t, if not for himself then for the people around him.  He can’t let them see their director submit to this - enjoying his own downfall.

But he -

He doesn’t want it to hurt.

So instead of replying, he bares his throat to Grindelwald, remembering what Scamander said.

_The safest thing to do is willingly offer them your blood and hope they’ll let you live. It calms them._

Graves already knows Grindelwald intends to turn him. Because Graves has, despite himself, managed to hold his attention.

He doesn’t want to make this decision.

He offers himself to Grindelwald, and lets him take the choice out of his hands.

Grindelwald smiles. His fingers tangle in Graves’ hair, tugging down to tilt Graves’ head to the side. Graves follows, his whole body shaking in fright, screaming at him to flee -- but he can’t. He hasn’t been able to for months.

There’s nothing he can do.  Maybe there never was.

Graves has the desperate thought that perhaps he can still stop himself from being turned into a monster - he can’t stop Grindelwald drinking from him, maybe even killing him, but when the time comes, he can die as himself.  He knows what it takes to turn someone and he won’t let Grindelwald make him drink.  He’ll hold onto himself and he won’t give in.  Even as he trembles in Grindelwald’s arms he knows that he’s a man of willpower, and he’ll remain so to the end.

Grindelwald’s teeth scrape against his skin, not biting yet, barely touching but already flaying Graves alive with that single point of contact.  Graves is gasping for breath, pulse racing, and he doesn’t try to stop the tears any more.

“Relax, darling,” Grindelwald whispers.  “Everything will be all right, I’ve got you.  You’re going to love it.”

Graves lets out a whimper, a small plea -

And Grindelwald kisses the skin one more time, almost apologetically, before bruskly turning Graves’ head to the side and biting down.

_At long last._

Graves feels the moment that Grindelwald’s teeth pierce his flesh, feels the hot blood welling up around them, the sharp sting of Grindelwald’s teeth and the warmth of his lips. It’s as though everything comes to a stop in that moment, nothing else existing but Grindelwald’s teeth at his neck.  It’s happening, and he couldn’t stop it.  The thought comes to him unbidden that finally the game is over.

Grindelwald clings to him, sucking, letting out a low moan as if he was the one overwhelmed. He laps up Graves’ blood greedily before biting him again and again, tearing deep gashes into his skin. Blood trickles down Graves’ chest, staining his shirt; and it _hurts_ , it does.

There’s also heat.

A painless, familiar and pulsing white heat traveling down Graves’ body from his neck and Graves shudders helplessly, eyes wide. His arms tremble as they slowly come up to wrap themselves around Grindelwald’s back to bring him closer. His mouth falls open and soon enough he is panting against Grindelwald’s shoulder, seeking an anchor.

The skin of his neck is sensitized, each pass of Grindelwald’s tongue, each new puncture of his teeth, sending shivers through Graves.  Grindelwald’s lips are soft where they press against him, and each time he sucks it sends bursts of sensation down his spine so intense that he feels his eyes roll back.

It’s better than he could have imagined.  He can’t stifle a moan, only half remembering why he should.

Pleasure pulses through his veins, sinking deep into him and making him feel as though he’s floating in Grindelwald’s arms. Grindelwald’s hand tightens at the small of his back in an effort to press his body even closer, and Graves’ own hand finds the back of Grindelwald’s head.  He presses it there as though he had the strength to tug him closer, fingers clenching and unclenching as he struggles not to be swept away.  He feels Grindelwald smile against his skin, and the vampire indulges him.  He sucks hard, drinking the life from Graves’ veins deeply and the pleasure of it throbs with each slow beat of Graves’ heart.

Graves blinks heavily and his eyes fall shut.  He’s tired, he realizes, too tired to force his eyes open again.  It feels so nice to lay here, held secure in Grindelwald’s arms, and let it all wash through him as he drifts.  He feels his hand slip from the back of Grindelwald’s head as his body relaxes, held firm and secure to Grindelwald’s chest.  He’d tried so hard - after all the pain and fear he just wants to rest here in the warmth and the dark.

Graves’ heart is loud in his ears, like a drumbeat that resonates through his whole body.  He listens to it growing quieter, and he lets it fill his mind.  After a while he forgets what it is, but he likes to listen to it.  He realizes distantly that the drumbeat is slowing down, growing fainter, and he wonders what will happen when it stops.

Eventually he feels Grindelwald shifting him, releasing his neck, and Graves is too weak to protest.  His head lolls against Grindelwald’s chest, and all he's aware of are the points of contact with Grindelwald’s body.  He's too tired for anything else to exist.  He can barely even think, but he wishes Grindelwald would keep drinking.  He feels himself slipping away and he just wants to rest.  His body is so unbearably heavy, and each shallow breath takes the last of his strength.  If he could just lay here while Grindelwald lapped at his neck and held him as he drifted off, that would be nice…

So nice…

There's something wet pressed to Graves’ lips and he doesn't understand why.  He can’t turn his head away and the wetness smears across his mouth, messy, coating his lips.  He has the vague, disconnected feeling that he should refuse it.  There’s something wrong about it, something he didn’t like, but that all seems distant now.

Almost by reflex he moves his tongue to run over the back of his lips, to catch some of it and taste it.

It lights up his mouth like nothing he’s ever known before.  It’s bright and rich and sweet, and it’s _good._  It’s exactly what he needs, he realizes, he’s never needed anything more.  He licks more of the liquid from his lips, and with the last reserves of his strength he swallows.

It surges through him, filling him with bright warmth, and it’s _not enough._ He craves it, he needs more, and with the barest strength it gives him he opens his mouth and presses his tongue forward to lap from the source.

He licks, tentative at first and unsure of everything but how much he needs it.  Then more intently as he feels the strength seep back into him, as Grindelwald’s blood fills him with warmth from the inside.  He latches his mouth onto Grindelwald’s wrist and he sucks, swallowing down the precious blood and overcome with need.  It fills him so completely, and he relishes how it flows down his throat.  Every swallow is pure bliss, satisfying an ache deep within him and completing him in a way he didn’t know was possible.

He brings his hands up to clutch at Grindelwald’s wrist, pressing it into his mouth with a desperate abandon.  He needs it, he needs it he _needs_ -

“Easy there now,” Grindelwald murmurs, but Graves can’t make sense of the words. Grindelwald makes a move to get away and Graves _growls_ , biting down on his wrist without thought to keep him where he needs him.  His grip tightens, his only instinct to fill the emptiness inside him.

“Percival,” Grindelwald says softly. “I said stop.”

Graves whimpers with want, with the pleasure of Grindelwald’s blood over his tongue, and he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.  The need doesn’t diminish.  But there’s something else pulling at him, pressing at his mind, something that becomes harder to ignore the longer he keeps drinking.

“ _Stop_ ,” Grindelwald repeats. His voice is lower, echoing around them and the pressure becomes unbearable. Graves pulls back, blood dribbling down his chin and eyes staring at Grindelwald in utter confusion. He doesn’t understand, he wants to keep going, he needs more of it. His throat hurts.

“I know, I know,” Grindelwald says sympathetically. He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and carefully wipes Graves’ chin and mouth with it, letting the tissue fall on the once pristine floor of the MACUSA when he’s done. “Let’s go home.”

Home. Graves isn’t sure what that means, but he finds himself nodding anyway, wide eyes looking at the vampire in front of him. He feels compelled to obey him, and he doesn’t question it. Graves instinctively knows he would do anything for him, and he feels almost happy about that fact.

Grindelwald smiles at him, and presses his hand down on Graves’ face, obscuring his view, covering his nose and mouth. Graves gasps but he doesn’t fight it. Grindelwald knows better, he knows what’s good for him.

He feels his consciousness fading, darkness falling around him as Grindelwald slides his arms under him and lifts him from the floor. Graves clings to Grindelwald’s coat weakly, snuggling into the warmth his sire provides as his eyes flutter closed.

He knows not what happens next, for when he awakes he is no longer at the MACUSA but somewhere unknown, naked body twisting in soft sheets, throat burning with need.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MercurialTenacity: Aaaaand chapter two! Thank you everyone who's told us how much they like this fic, we never expected to get such a great response. It's been really amazing, and I hope you enjoy where the story goes! <3

Grindelwald picks Graves up as if he were a mere child. Tina sees Graves’ eyes close and his body sag against the vampire’s, utterly defenseless. Graves’ wand lies on the floor a couple of meters away, a useless tool against a thing such as Grindelwald. Tina can’t breathe. 

Graves had fought. She had never seen him like that - magic crackled in the air, fiendfyre and ozone and the rising tide coming alive. Graves’ teeth were bared like an animal's, his movements swift and merciless - yet it hadn’t been enough. 

Grindelwald looks down at Graves almost fondly, and Tina wants to throw up. Then the vampire spins, and as quickly as he came he’s gone. The only remnants of him are Graves’ wand and the puddle of blood on the marble, Graves’ and Grindelwald’s mingling together in a dark pool of crimson.

The hold of Grindelwald’s curse vanishes along with him, and the stark silence of the scene erupts into a cacophony.  

Tina feels the hot tears she’d been unable to shed sliding down her cheeks, and her hands shake with a mix of rage and helplessness as she picks up Graves’ abandoned wand.  Tina looks up to the president on the stairs and sees her standing as though still frozen, her face ashen, eyes fixed on the pool of blood left on the floor.

She flies into action before Tina’s eyes, giving orders and organizing like the leader she is, but to Tina it all feels for naught.  Too late. Graves is with him. 

On Picquery’s orders the hall clears, and some time later Tina finds herself ushered into a briefing with the president, Mr. Scamander, the deputy director of magical security, and several other people who have apparently been deemed relevant to the situation.

Graves’ wand is still clutched in her hand.

She sits at the table with the rest of them, hearing them talk but forgetting to listen.  She spins Graves’ wand in her fingers.  He’ll need it once they find him.

“...Miss Goldstein?”

Tina looks up, and when she meets the President’s eyes she could swear she sees sympathy beneath the hard mask of control.

“You were nearest to them, Miss Goldstein.  Was there any indication as to where Grindelwald may go?”

Tina shakes her head, helpless.  She couldn’t help Graves in the moment, and she can’t help save him now.

“No, Ma’am.  He - he just -”

There’s a brief moment of silence in the room before the President speaks again, and in all the faces that look towards Tina she sees not one ounce of judgement.

“Mr. Scamander.  What can you tell us about -” Seraphina swallows, her mouth a hard line.  “The process of turning.”

Scamander clears his throat, fiddling with the handle of the briefcase he carries before he speaks.

“It’s, ah… not a very well studied process, for obvious reasons.  There’s not many who can get close enough to… and most vampires, well, they seem to consider it rather intimate.”

The silence in the room is thick and heavy.  Newt clears his throat.

“Well.  It’s old magic, we know that much.  If the process works, it transforms the victim and forges a deep bond between fledgling and sire.”

_ “If _ it works,” Tina interjects.

“Yes, that’s right.  Not much is known, as I said, but it seems the process is a bit… dodgy.  There have been cases where it fails, even once the vampire’s blood has been consumed.  Victims have been found still human.”

“And alive?” Seraphina prompts.

“The number of documented cases really isn’t representative -”

“Mr. Scamander.”

“No.  I don’t know.  From my perspective as a magizoologist it is possible, but… we simply don’t have enough information.”

Tina’s heart thuds in her chest, beating with the first spark of hope she’s felt since Grindelwald materialized in front of her.  Graves could be alive.  He could be human.  They can find him, and bring him home.  They have to.

“Very well,” Seraphina’s expression is unreadable once more.  “Davies,” she says, addressing the Deputy Director, “I’m putting you in charge of security for the time being.  I’m sorry to thrust this upon you, but we will have to carry on until I’m able to appoint someone else.”

“Or until Mr. Graves comes back,” Tina adds fiercely.

“Until such time as the position can be filled.  Miss Goldstein…” The President’s voice is oddly soft, and when she speaks again it’s with a gentleness Tina hasn’t heard from her before.  “I need his wand.”

 

\---

 

Graves struggles towards consciousness, turning fitfully and twisting in the sheets of the bed.  The closer he gets to waking the deeper the burn in his throat, the more intense the thirst.  His whole body aches.

When he finally opens his eyes Grindelwald is beside him, and the first thing Graves sees is his smile.

“There you are, love.”

Grindelwald reaches out a hand to stroke the side of his face, and Graves opens his mouth to try to speak.

“Wh -” the sound pierces his throat, ripping into him and making him feel as though his throat were being torn to shreds.  He breaks off with a pained moan, turning his head to the side.

He doesn't remember much.  Just fear, bone-deep terror consuming him.  And Grindelwald, reassuring him.

_ “Let me take care of you.” _

“H - help me,” he chokes past the pain, “please, help -”

“Oh darling, shhh.  I know exactly what you need.”

Grindelwald leaves his side and Graves feels lost.  He tosses from side to side, a deep need coursing through him, searching - and then he notices the scent.

It's incredible, so rich and sweet, and he knows without question that it would soothe the agony in his throat.  It would complete him.

Grindelwald lays the sweet smelling thing down beside him, and Graves barely notices that it's a woman before he’s reaching for her, pulling her close and burying himself in her scent.

The woman is limp in his arms, but Graves can hear her heartbeat - faint and pulsing, calling to him like nothing else has ever done. He needs it, needs to be closer to the life within her. He nuzzles the crook of her neck, the junction between her shoulder and jaw, mouth pressing against the delicate skin, and it's still not enough.  He writhes with frustration and wraps his arms around her, pulling her in close against his chest, feeling her heart beat against him.  He presses their bodies together, craving the heat of her, the life.  He's drunk on her scent, mouthing clumsily over her neck, and when his tongue finds her pulse point he moans.

The artery of her neck is throbbing beneath his lips, carrying life through her, and he  _ needs _ it.

“That's it.  Go on my love, she's for you.  You know what to do.”

He does.  He knows exactly what to do, it's instinct.  When his teeth scrape over the woman's throat she makes a small sound, the barest hint of awareness, and Graves doesn't want to wait a moment longer.  His entire being wants this.  He's captivated by her warmth, her softness, the slow rise of her chest.

He bites without hesitation, teeth sinking easily into her flesh.  The first drops of blood that well up in his mouth are glorious - shining beads of life, spilling onto his tongue.

But it's not  _ enough. _

He bites her again, rough, tearing into her and opening the wound wider.  It's messy, rivulets of blood trickling down to the sheets and he relishes it, relishes the smell of it in the air and the way it makes him soar when it hits his tongue.

He can feel the rhythm of her pulse, sending the blood from her body in little waves, sluggishly pushing the life out of her.  Graves is dizzy with the feeling of her body giving itself to him, pumping her blood from her veins.  Grindelwald is murmuring to him, stroking his hair, but Graves can barely understand what he's saying.  Everything else is lost beneath the bloodlust.

Graves moans as the blood flows over his tongue.  It soothes his aching throat, washing away the pain of thirst.  Every swallow is bliss, the warmth of her life spreading through him.

The need doesn't lessen, and if anything he clutches her tighter as strength flows through him.  He's enveloped by the rhythm of her body, the two of them locked together, bound to each other in this moment.

All Graves can do is feel.

The woman's heart is slowing, struggling to keep beating.  The blood is spilling from her faster than Graves can drink it, soaking the sheets beneath them in crimson.  The glow of her life reaches every part of him, warming him from the inside.  She’s so soft against him, and her body yields effortlessly.

Graves finds himself lost in the beating of her heart.  It resonates through him, pulling him in deeper until he matches himself to it.  The desperate edge leaves him as he settles into it, their bodies synchronizing.  He loses track of everything else.  Nothing matters but the bliss of drifting here with her.

Together they sink down, into darkness and warmth.

There’s no definitive moment when it happens.  The space between each heartbeat stretches out longer each time, and then it doesn’t beat again.  A hint of bitterness tinges her blood, and Graves finds himself pulling back.  He’s sated, flushed, and she lies unmoving in his arms, the life gone from her. 

He lets her go, the allure of her fading quickly now.  He falls back into the bed, eyes closing as he basks in the heavy warmth of his body, the slow, thick pleasure coursing through him, and the fulfillment he feels to his very core.  Nothing has ever felt so right as this does.

Grindelwald’s hands are on him, his lips at Graves’ ear. He makes a small noise of contentment.

“Beautiful, darling.”

Grindelwald’s lips find his and he licks the blood from Graves’ mouth, slowly and languidly.  Graves feels so much better, so complete now.

It’s a while before he starts to come back to himself.

He turns his head and sees the body next to him, and despite the warmth suffusing him he feels cold.

He sees her properly for the first time.  Her hair is fanned out on the pillows, head turned to the side, lying gracelessly atop the sheets.  She could be sleeping, but for the deep, bloody gashes at her neck.  Her scent is bitter.

She's dead.

She -

Graves turns to Grindelwald and sees him smiling, fondness written in the lines of his face.

Graves scrambles up, away, unable to take his eyes from the body of the woman.

He killed her.  She's dead, and he killed her.

Grindelwald tilts his head, concerned with the scent of his panic. “What’s wrong?”

Graves doesn’t know how to begin to answer that question. He stares at the dead woman’s body, a cold sickness curling in his stomach despite being flush with her blood.  What had he done?  He hadn't even hesitated.  He hadn't paused for a moment before draining the life out of her, and he'd  _ loved it. _

He dedicated his entire life to helping people, and he's just killed a woman.

He looks to Grindelwald, and the only word his lips can form is,  _ “Why?” _

“It's natural, love.”  Grindelwald reaches out to stroke his cheek and Graves doesn't know whether to lean into it or pull away.  The thought of what Grindelwald has done to him, what Grindelwald had made him do, revolts him.  He should hate Grindelwald, and he does - but he also wants nothing more than for Grindelwald to hold him, to tell him it's all right, to take all the pain away.

He doesn't understand.

“It's not,” he chokes out.  “It's not natural, there's nothing natural about this.  What have you  _ done _ to me?!”

He's shaking, struggling to hold himself together.  He remembers what happened at the MACUSA - the struggle, the fear, the realization that it was inevitable.  He remembers Tina standing frozen in front of him, panic and despair plain in her eyes.  And he remembers the pleasure.  He didn't want any of it.

“Hush, love.  Hush, it's okay.  I'm here.”

Graves doesn't want to feel reassured, but he is.  He sways on the bed and Grindelwald catches him, folding Graves in against his chest and rocking him gently, a hand rubbing his back.  Graves remembers with a start that he's naked, but Grindelwald’s touch feels too good to protest.

Even still, Graves feels tears pricking at his eyes.  He doesn't understand any of this, he's caught between hatred and devotion and he doesn't know how to make sense of his mind anymore.  Grindelwald is the one who did this to him. Grindelwald is also the only one who can comfort him.

He can't hold back any longer.  He lets the tears spill down his cheeks, burying his head in Grindelwald’s shoulder and sobbing into the soft fabric of his shirt.

He's alive, but the person he was is gone.

His chest aches with the pain of what's happened to him, of what he's done.  He doesn't want to accept it, he  _ can't  _ accept it.  He's Percival Graves, of the Graves family, Director of Magical Security for MACUSA, in charge of keeping the witches and wizards of America safe.  He's not the kind of person who's supposed to fall.

He'd long ago made peace with the fact that he would die in battle.  He'd die defending his people, his country, his world, and he had accepted that.

But he didn't die.  He was taken.  Ruined.  Made into Grindelwald’s - what?  Plaything?  Lover?   _ Pet? _  Anything Grindelwald wants, Graves already knows he would do.  It makes him burn to think of being so completely under someone else's control, but he is.  Part of him has already stopped fighting it.

He was supposed to be a better man than this.

Graves’ sobs slowly subside as Grindelwald comforts him.  He doesn't feel better - nothing’s changed.  For now, he's just cried himself out.

“There, darling.  This is good for you, you'll see.  Don't try to fight it.”  Grindelwald strokes a hand through his hair, and softly kisses his forehead.  “You can't.”

Graves just clings to Grindelwald, eyes closed, trying to block out what has become his reality.

Grindelwald keeps murmuring to him, soft little things that try as he might he can’t ignore.

“You’re lovely, darling.  So lovely.  Every part of you is perfect for me now, isn’t that right?  Just how I want you.  You haven't even seen yourself yet…”

Grindelwald pulls back just slightly, laying Graves against his shoulder and looking down at him.  He cups Graves’ cheek, trailing a finger over his lips, and he smiles.

“Look at you.”

Graves does.  For the first time he looks down at himself, seeing what Grindelwald has done to his body.  His hair falls in his eyes and Grindelwald brushes it back gently, letting his fingers linger and slide through it.  It's soft now, free of the product he always used to keep it in place, and silky in Grindelwald’s hand.

Grindelwald’s fingers trail down his neck to his chest, caressing his soft skin.  He's paler than he was before, as though any hint of a tan has been drained from his skin. His skin is soft and smooth, more so than it ever had been before.  He shivers under Grindelwald’s fingers, the touches making his skin tingle.

“So sensitive now,” Grindelwald murmurs.

He is sensitive.  Every brush against his skin makes his eyes fall closed, the sensation blooming along his nerves.  It's as though he feels it more deeply now, more aware of each moment of contact Grindelwald’s fingers make with his skin.

He can't help the way he squirms in Grindelwald’s lap, nor the quick breath that escapes him.

Grindelwald stills.

“You like that?”

Graves turns his head to hide in Grindelwald’s shoulder, but Grindelwald knows.  He hums as he continues to let his hands explore Graves’ body, his touches always soft - almost loving.

His fingertips catch on Graves’ nipples, and Graves gasps.

“Oh?  You like to be touched there.”

Graves bites his lip.

“Answer me, darling.”

“Yes,” Graves says without thinking.  “It’s so - so good, yes…”

Graves flushes deeply, embarrassment filling him.  He hadn't meant to answer, he hadn't meant to say anything.  But it had felt right to tell Grindelwald the truth.

“There you go.”

Graves’ nipples are bright spots of color against his pale skin, the little nubs hardening as Grindelwald toys with them.  He traces a finger around Graves’ areola, circling it slowly, and Graves bites back a moan.  He can't let this feel good, it shouldn't, everything about it is wrong.

When Grindelwald rubs his thumb over the nub of Graves’ nipple he has to clench his jaw to keep the sound in, and Grindelwald tuts.

“There's no need for modesty, sweet thing.  I intend to learn every piece of you.  Come now, let me hear you.”

After that it's all too easy to let the moans slip past his lips.  He gives one last effort not to, but it's so much  _ easier _ to just do as Grindelwald says.  If Grindelwald tells him to do something it must be right, Graves knows that.  It feels better when he doesn't have to hide it, when he can just let himself react… why shouldn't he?

Grindelwald brings both hands to Graves’ chest, gently rolling his nipples between his fingers.  Graves lets himself make a small, soft sound, and it feels good to do so.

“Ohh…”

“That’s it. Don’t be shy.”

“Ohh, oh,  _ uhh… _ please, oh… please don’t stop…”

“Don’t worry, darling. I’ve got you.”

Grindelwald tugs one nipple, then the other, squeezing as he does so, playing with Graves’ body.  After a moment Grindelwald’s fingers release him, only for him to begin massaging Graves’ chest.  He works his fingertips into the muscle of Graves’ pectorals, pressing in deep and slow, rubbing gentle circles.  The sensation sinks deep into Graves’ chest, spreading through him with a glorious warmth.

He moans as his body relaxes, sinking back against Grindelwald.  He can feel the arousal flooding into him, and to his mortification his cock starts to fill.  He looks down at himself and squirms.  There's no way he can hide it, naked as he is, nothing he can do to cover himself while Grindelwald holds him.

His sire chuckles.

“So pretty for me.”  He cups a hand over Graves’ pectoral, his thumb resting on the hard point of Graves’ nipple.  “Do you like being pretty?”

“I - I like when you touch me -”

“I know.  But that's not what I asked you, is it?”

Graves whimpers.  He doesn't want to answer.  He wants to say no.  But even without Grindelwald’s direct order Graves feels bad for trying to hide his feelings from him, guilty for holding back.  He never would have admitted it, not to a most trusted lover, but for Grindelwald he would do anything.

“Yes,” he says quietly.

“And you are. You're so pretty, baby girl.”

Graves’ cock twitches, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

“I made you perfect.”

Grindelwald’s breath ghosts over Graves’ ear, tickling his skin and taking him back to all those nights - so long ago now - spent with Grindelwald sitting concealed at his bedside.  Letting Grindelwald touch him, letting him do as he wanted, waiting to feel his phantom touch before falling asleep… this isn’t new.  Now he’s in Grindelwald’s bed instead of his own, any pretense is gone, but it isn’t new.

Grindelwald’s hand are firm and sure on his chest, and he lets it soothe him.  He moans low as Grindelwald gropes and squeezes him, and every now and then a quick tug or pinch makes him gasp.

He’s surprised by the soft press of Grindelwald’s lips against his own; his breath hitches and Grindelwald takes advantage of his open mouth.  It's gentle and slow as he lets himself be kissed, eyes falling shut while Grindelwald experiments by licking into his mouth.

When Grindelwald finally breaks the kiss he replaces his lips with a finger, keeping Graves’ lips parted with a gentle pressure.  He smirks as he looks at Graves’ mouth, feeling the shape of his teeth.

His -

His fangs.

His breath lodges painfully in his chest as he realizes.  How could he not have noticed?

He presses his tongue over them, feeling out the foreign shape.  They're different, unmistakably so, but to his dismay they don't feel wrong.  Grindelwald chuckles softly at his distress, as through Graves were startled by something childish.  He wants to protest it but he can’t, not with Grindelwald’s fingers on his tongue.  He feels lost like this, a stranger to his own body with Grindelwald exploring him, knowing him better than he knows himself.

Grindelwald’s fingers are wet with saliva as he trails them down Graves’ chest, pausing briefly to circle his nipples and make him whine but not stopping, trailing down further until Graves burns with shame and Grindelwald’s hand rests on his cock.  Graves doesn’t understand how he could possibly be hard from this, how he could like this, but he is and he does and somehow the last thing he wants to do is fight it.  He wants Grindelwald to be pleased with him, and he wants to feel good.

He moans as Grindelwald strokes him, teasing touches which were never intended to satisfy.  Grindelwald’s smile is sharp and his eyes dark as he draws his fingers up the shaft of Graves’ cock, seeming to drink in every helpless noise Graves makes.

_ “ _ Darling _ ,” _ Grindelwald breathes, and Graves whimpers into his shoulder.  He doesn’t try to stop his hips jerking up, chasing Grindelwald’s fingers.  Grindelwald sounds delighted when he laughs and Graves feels warm.

“Please,” he manages to gasp. Grindelwald mutters something under his breath and he jerks, feeling coolness sliding down his cock - and then Grindelwald moves his hand faster, squeezing around the head. He closes his eyes, mouth open and emitting little sounds of pleasure that make Grindelwald happy. He kisses Graves’ naked shoulder soothingly and changes his pace, going from base to tip in a slow rhythm which allows his fledging to catch his breath. 

“Are you close?” Grindelwald murmurs in his ear. “Is my little darling about to make a mess?” 

The steady dribble of slick is tainting the sheet, forming a puddle between Graves’ thighs. He gives a tiny nod, lips searching for something to anchor himself and only finding Grindelwald’s shirt. The scent of his sire overwhelms him and he bites back a sob, suckling a fold of fabric between his reddened lips. Grindelwald huffs, amused, as if what he was doing wasn't driving Graves mad with want and need. 

He is so close. He knows he doesn’t need much, and he trusts Grindelwald to give it to him. 

His sire’s hand leaves his cock to grab Graves by the scruff of his neck, gently prying him away from his shoulder. Percival is tearing up. His fangs ache like those of a newborn, his hair is plastered to his forehead, and he is burning up. Grindelwald leans in to kiss him slowly, possessively, both hands cradling his face to keep him in place, not that Graves ever wants to leave. He feels safe and oh, so loved. 

Grindelwald keeps kissing him as his hands sneak down Graves’ chest again, reaching his cock and setting a rough, fast pace.  He throw his head back and keen, high and desperate. His breath is shallow, moans falling from his lips uncontrollably; he comes with a desperate cry, Grindelwald’s name on his lips. 

He sags against the mattress, his orgasm ebbing away as quickly as it came. His cock softens between his legs, twitching when Graves sees Grindelwald lift his fingers to his mouth to taste him, humming approvingly. 

“Delicious. Just like the rest of you, darling.” 

Graves doesn’t reply, still a bit dazed and confused. Being allowed to come felt nice, but…

But not nearly as nice as when Grindelwald was drinking his blood. 

Percival swallows, throat clicking. What he just experienced was barely satisfying, not lasting long enough, compared to what he’d been able to have when he was still human. He doesn’t understand. 

“What have you done?” He asks, voice small. 

“I believe I just made you come, sweetheart.” 

“Yes, but…” Graves looks down, cheeks aflame. “It wasn’t - it didn’t -” 

“It wasn’t as good as it used to be?” Grindelwald finishes for him, nodding in understanding. “I know. You’ll get used to it, darling - I know other ways we can both find pleasure in these bodies.” 

“By killing people,” Graves says, his body trembling. “By murdering them. Taking their life. Just like you  _ did _ to me. How can that bring you pleasure? What kind of - of  _ monster _ have you turned me into?!” 

Grindelwald doesn’t reply. Percival turns away from him, lies down and covers himself with the soft sheet, still wet in places. “I want to be alone,” he says to the silence. “Please.” 

“Percival -” 

“Gellert. Leave me alone.” 

Grindelwald sighs, and for a moment Graves fears he will force him to turn around, will curse him for talking that way to his sire, will possibly beat him. He can feel Grindelwald’s displeasure coursing through him, and he squeezes his eyes shut, letting the tears fall silently. 

Grindelwald hears him, of course - and this time it is sadness Graves feels, down to his core, echoing his own desperation. He hears his sire shift, and then his presence leaves the room completely. 

Graves is colder than ever before in his life. 

He wraps the blanket tightly around himself, wishing he could fall asleep and forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOMEONE DREW A THING FOR OUR THING !!! :DD you can find it here : 
> 
> http://sunburnt-goldfish.tumblr.com/post/167763763008/nsfw-all-praise-to-a-little-death-and-the
> 
> SEND LOVE TO THE ARTIST BECAUSE WE ABOUT DIED WHEN WE SAW THIS IS HOT AF AND VERY FLATTERING FOR US AUTHORS <333


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security, and this is what he’s become. A monster, a murderer, Grindelwald’s darling crying in bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kallistob : Hello ! MT and I are just absolutely thrilled at the positive response this fic is getting, we didn't expect it and it feels very good to know you guys like it. Enjoy the porn, because we're going back to the plot with the next chapter. Don't forget to tell us what you think :D

Graves shivers beneath the sheets, trying to quell the trembling in his body.  It's all too much.  It would be one thing if Grindelwald simply killed him, and another if he could bring himself to hate Grindelwald for what he's done to him.

But he can't.  Try as he might, he can't.

If he can't hate Grindelwald for himself, then perhaps for others, he thinks desperately.  He tries to remember the reports piling on his desk, detailing Grindelwald’s atrocities, his disregard for humanity.  He tries to summon the anger he felt when reading them, the disgust at his destruction of life.

But he can’t. It feels flat, like memories of watching a film rather than of his own life, lacking in emotion and intensity.  He remembers how he felt, but he can’t feel that way now.  Try as he might, he can’t hate his Sire. Graves’ heart seizes with the knowledge that even his emotions aren’t his own anymore; with the fact that the part of him which wants to kill Grindelwald will always be overwhelmed by crushing, bone-deep guilt at the thought.

Graves longs for the release of sleep, for the respite of unconsciousness however brief.  The dead woman’s body still lays beside him and it sickens him.  He can’t hate Grindelwald, but he is more than able to hate himself.  He was Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security, and this is what he’s become.  A monster, a murderer, Grindelwald’s darling crying in bed.

He has no way to measure how long he stays like that, shivering with an aching heart, bundled up in the sheets of Grindelwald’s bed.  He didn’t think it possible but eventually, somehow, he begins to calm.  It’s not that he feels better, he doesn’t know if he ever will, but his body simply doesn’t have the energy to maintain his distress.  His shaking slows, and stops, and eventually all he feels is cold and loneliness creeping up his spine.

He pulls himself up, and looks around the room properly for the first time.  It's gorgeous, there's no denying it: the finest antique furniture, heavy, finely woven drapes covering the windows, a gleaming floor. Grindelwald lives in luxury.  The room is as fine as any in the Graves Manor, though that's where the familiarity ends.  Everything about this room feels foreign.

Graves casts his eyes around for something to dress himself with, unwilling to be naked any longer.  Grindelwald’s wardrobe is open, full of intricate clothes which are no doubt tailored to precision, but Graves can't bring himself to dress in Grindelwald’s things.  He settles for a simple robe, which he pulls around his shoulders and ties securely at his front.  It’s better, even if he still feels exposed.

He wishes his head would clear. It aches, the same kind of hurt as when he cried himself to sleep as a child until there were no more tears left to give. His thoughts are messy, torturing him with _what he could have done, what he is to do now, what people must think of him._

He hates it. He wants his life back, but he knows he can’t have it. Who does Grindelwald think he is, to choose to make Graves his?

Face grim, he leaves the bedroom and steps into the corridor. He can see it leads to a flight of stairs, despite the darkness surrounding him. Instinctively he smells the air, feeling Grindelwald’s presence in the space around him - overwhelming. It is stronger in front of Graves’ door, leading him to wonder exactly how long Grindelwald stayed standing in front of it after he threw him out.

His Sire must be mad at him. He swallows, nervous instead of terrified. He doesn’t want Grindelwald to be angry with him, he knows it feels wrong, he has to do something, he has to apologize --

 _For what?_ His brain whispers. _He killed you. Why would you apologize to him?_

Percival shakes his head and steps forward on unsteady legs. Grindelwald’s scent calls to him, a traced path leading forward, and he knows he only has to follow it to find him. He doesn’t know what will happen once he does, only that he has to be with him.

He makes his way down the stairs, barefoot. The walls he touches thrum with power as he uses them for support - this house is ancient, magic infusing it and protecting anyone within its walls from harm.

The MACUSA can’t reach them here. Graves is sure of it, and he doesn’t know how to feel about that certainty. He should be terrified. He is alone with Grindelwald, the man who stalked, attacked, and killed him, but instead all he feels is comfort. Grindelwald provided him with power and cared for him, did he not? He made him feel good. He was good.

Graves whimpers in confusion, his headache worsening. Grindelwald’s scent soothes him, and he follows it until he reaches the living room. The fire is roaring in the fireplace, and he finds Grindelwald dozing in one of the large armchairs in front of it, a glass dangling from his fingers. It is stained with red. Graves would mistake it for wine if he didn’t know better.

Wordlessly, he takes a seat next to Grindelwald, and waits for him to notice his presence. He already feels better, with his Sire near him. He hadn’t realized how much he missed him. Being nearby feels right, and even as Grindelwald sleeps Graves knows this is his place. This is where he belongs.

Perhaps this is what he’d been missing. In his past life. Somewhere to belong. Something that felt as right as this.

Grindelwald’s eyelashes flutter, and Percival watches his Sire wake. Grindelwald yawns, placing the empty glass of blood on the low table, and licks his lips.

Graves stays silent, drinking in the sight of him. He feels warm and safe. Grindelwald sees him and smiles, soft and sincere. “You’re awake.”

Percival nods.

“Do you feel better, darling?”

“I want to be mad at you,” Percival says quietly, unfurling from his position to stand in front of Grindelwald. “Why can’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Grindelwald says. “I never knew my own Sire. Is that what it feels like for you?”

“What does it feel like for you?”

“Like I could hold infinity in the palm of my hand, if only you remained by my side.”

Percival looks away. “I didn’t want to die.”

“I deliberated for months, Percival, before turning you. At first, I did not want to do it either. But you called to me, and I gave in. I’m sorry,” Grindelwald says. “You have every right to hate me.”

“I _want_ to hate you. I hate this. You stole my _life_ from me, Gellert. No matter how dull it became, no matter how alone I was, you had no right to do it.  And I hate that even now --” Percival swallows, blinking back tears, “Even as I say this all I want, all I need is for you to never leave my side again - even if I ask it of you. How is that possible?”

“It is as new to you as it is to me,” Grindelwald says, but Graves feels his pleasure at his words echoing through him. “I do not know where this will lead us.”

“MACUSA will hunt us down. I don’t want to fight my own colleagues.” Percival feels sick at the thought of it, because he knows he would win should it ever come to that.

“You won’t have to,” Grindelwald says placatingly. “I’ll protect you.”

“I don’t _need_ protection,” Graves retorts, his anger rising again now that the initial thrill of Grindelwald’s presence is fading. “Who do you think I am? A helpless kitten for you to put a pretty bow on and toy with as you like? I was the _Director of Magical Security_ , Grindelwald.”

“I know.”

“Is that why you chose me?!”

Grindelwald pauses, then finally says, “I’d be a liar if I said your power didn’t make me more eager to taste you. But it was _you_ I felt drawn to. You, and I did not even know you. Now we have eternity.”

“I never _wanted_ eternity! And certainly not with you!” Percival paces the room, unable to be still any longer. “Why did you do it in front of everyone?”

“I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“You couldn’t -- you let me fight and exhaust myself while you barely lifted a finger, you son of a - of a - _stop looking at me like that!”_

“How do I look at you?”

“Like I’m the most beautiful thing you have ever seen in your hundreds of years of life,” Graves says, sneering. “I’m not the first of your coven, am I?”

“As a matter of fact, you are. You must know it, Percival. You must feel it.” Grindelwald rises and steps closer to him, and Graves doesn’t move. He can’t move. “I haven’t been a vampire for a long time. There was a time I entertained the thought of turning someone else I held dear to my heart, but as a whole, we failed. With you…”

Grindelwald puts his palm over Graves’ heart. His eyes are bright, holding Graves captive, igniting his soul with want. “With you by my side, I feel like a victor. The world needs us, and I need you, Percival.”

Grindelwald leans in close, his lips ghosting over the side of Graves’ neck. “I did what I did because I had to. Because I needed you. I do not know if it is forgivable.”

“No,” Graves says, closing his eyes, his body melting under his Sire’s touch. Grindelwald surrounds him, pulls him apart at the seams and puts him back together, and when he looks at him again he sees love staring back. “It is not.”

Grindelwald kisses his neck, and Graves lets himself fall.

-

His body does not feel like his own as Grindelwald slowly backs him up, crowding him against the wall.  His lips on Graves’ neck feel better than they have any right to, sending shivers through his whole body and making him cling to Grindelwald’s shoulders in a desperate attempt to anchor himself.  He realizes with a start that Grindelwald is mouthing over the same place he first bit him, and he doesn’t have time to consider how that makes him feel before a moan is torn from his throat.

His back bumps against the wall as Grindelwald cups his cheek, and his eyes flutter shut.  

“You smell so good,” Grindelwald says, voice low. “You feel so good.”

Grindelwald’s words of praise send warmth spreading through him. He nuzzles into his Sire’s hand, knowing that he would do anything to make him happy.  Grindelwald’s body is pressed tight against his, possessive, protective, and Graves tips his head to the side to bare his neck to Grindelwald.  He knows that he loves him, he knows he will be given pleasure, and he wants to be good.  He’s dizzy with it, and moments before he was trying to be angry but he can’t worry about that now.  Everything else fades before the simple need to let Grindelwald have him.

“Please,” he whispers, _“Please…”_

He feels Grindelwald smile against the soft skin of his neck, and his heart thrills to know Grindelwald is pleased.  Grindelwald’s hands are on him, opening the front of his robe so that gentle fingers can settle at his waist, caressing soft circles.

Graves can barely support his own weight, and when Grindelwald’s teeth scrape against him his knees give out entirely.  Were it not for Grindelwald pinning him to the wall he would be unable to stand, but Grindelwald holds him safe.

Grindelwald laughs, a little huff of breath against Graves’ neck, and slowly, teasingly, he closes his fangs around Graves’ throat as though about to bite, just shy of breaking the skin.

Graves whines desperately, longingly, and Grindelwald pulls back just far enough to speak.

" _Darling_. Those noises. You're driving me mad.”

Graves can only look at him wide eyed, another whimper escaping him as his lips desperately try to form the word _please_. He needs Grindelwald to claim him, he's never wanted anything as much as he craves the touch of his Sire.

“Sshhh. I'm here, love, I'm here.”

Grindelwald is impossibly close, his mouth back at Graves’ neck, pressing delicate kisses into his skin. Percival bares his throat more, silently begging, praying that Grindelwald reads what he wants. His own throat is parched, but he won't take anything until Grindelwald has used him first.

Grindelwald’s teeth scrape over his skin once more, so close, so much, before finally Grindelwald bites.  His teeth sink easily into Graves’ neck, and with each swallow he takes Graves lets out a little breathless sound of pleasure. It is so good. Graves loses track of everything, the world slipping away until all that’s left is his Sire.

He never wants this moment to end.

Grindelwald’s arms wrap around him and Graves is enveloped in the feel of him, his own hands fisting uselessly in Grindelwald’s shirt.  All he can do is hold on and let it happen.  Grindelwald’s tongue on his skin sends shivers down his spine, his teeth draw out moans, and it feels _right._  It feels right for Grindelwald to take from him, to use him, and Graves gives himself over to it.

At long last the pleasure pulsing through his body starts to ebb, and with effort Graves raises his head to see Grindelwald looking at him with something akin to reverence, lips wet with Graves’ blood.  Graves makes a tiny, meaningless sound, feeling blood still trickling down his neck, and Grindelwald presses him in firmly against his chest.  

He’s exhausted, and his head lolls against Grindelwald’s shoulder as he is half carried to the couch.  His whole body thrums with pleasure, knowing he was good for Grindelwald, good for his sire, and his mind is pleasantly fuzzy.

Grindelwald lays him down gently and he whimpers in distress at the momentary loss of contact.  He reaches clumsily for Grindelwald, trying to find him again, feeling unmoored before all at once Grindelwald is on top of him, kissing him, and Graves can taste his own blood on Grindelwald’s tongue.

Somewhere between the wall and the couch Graves lost his robe, leaving him bare once again and blanketed by Grindelwald’s body.  Grindelwald kisses him slowly, languidly, as though he had time unlimited to explore him, to learn his reactions. He tugs at Graves’ lower lip with his teeth, drawing a weak cry from him. Grindelwald pulls back and watches the man beneath him with tenderness, stroking loose strands of hair away from Graves’ face. Graves closes his eyes and leans into the touch, drowsiness taking hold of him. He feels tired, and he shivers.

Grindelwald gently encourages him to sit up, shifting their positions until Graves is the one lying on top of him. His Sire bares his neck and Graves presses himself closer, his body awakening as he instinctively licks a long, slow stripe up Grindelwald’s neck. It makes him shiver, and Graves feels impossibly warm - knowing what he did earned him that reaction, knowing that he is pleasing Grindelwald.

Grindelwald’s hands roam over his back as Percival kisses his neck slowly, imitating him. Graves feels them go further, fingers digging into the flesh of his ass to appreciate the firmness of it. He lets out a little sound of surprise and hides his face in Grindelwald’s neck, this time flushing in embarrassment as Grindelwald compliments his body, murmuring words about how good Graves feels, how strong he is, how soft his skin is to the touch.

Grindelwald squeezes him, parting his ass cheeks, and when his fingers find his hole Graves forgets how to breathe.  Grindelwald massages him there, circling his rim with a gentle, deep pressure, and Graves melts against him.  It’s been so, so long since anyone touched him there, he’s so sensitive to Grindelwald’s touches, and despite everything Grindelwald has done to him the intimacy of this makes him flush hot.

“G-Gellert - uh -”

Grindelwald hums as he slows his movements further, deepening the pressure at Graves’ entrance, slowly stealing away the last of his sanity.

“Has anyone ever touched you there, darling?” He mumbles in Graves’ neck, making him flush all over the bridge of his nose and down his neck. “Or am I the first?”

Graves shakes his head. He arches his back, trying to press against Grindelwald’s finger, wanting the man inside him.

“No?” Grindelwald says, voice husky. “So you have been taken? How was it? Better than this?”

Graves startles when something sparks to life inside him, deep vibrations sending bursts of unfathomable pleasure up his spine. It happens again and again, short and electric, until Percival is rocking back against the teasing fingers, hiding his face in the crook of Grindelwald’s neck.

“Oh, oh _fuck_ , please -”

“So? What was it like?”

Graves says, _please, it wasn’t like this, this feels so good and he wants more, please -_

“What did he do to you? Did he take good care of you? What did he do, love?”

Grindelwald fingers him, one slick digit moving in and out of Graves’ hole. Graves gasps with it, warmth spreading through him and making him feel feverish. It burns, but it feels so right to have Gellert inside him, making him feel good, knowing exactly what Graves needs and providing it.

“Did he make you come, darling? Did he make you come on his fingers?”

Graves shakes his head, _no_ , and as soon as he does there’s a second finger penetrating him, stretching him just right. Percival whimpers, he feels ready, he is ready to take more, to take all of Grindelwald.

“Fuck,” he says weakly, “Please, Gellert -”

“Is that what you said to him too?” Gellert says, but he keeps going, a third digit breaching Graves, making him bite Grindelwald’s shirt to hold on through the waves of pleasure. His whole body is shaking. Grindelwald laughs and flips them over until he is lying atop Graves, the young vampire whining at the emptiness he feels - and then the fingers are back inside him, jabbing hard and fast, rough and punishing, rubbing against that spot just the way Graves needs.

He arches his back, tosses his head to the side, tenses. “Ah _, ah_ , _fuck,_ Gellert _\- Gellert --”_

“Come for me,” his Sire says, and he _obeys_ , coming with a drawn out moan, hole clenching around Grindelwald's fingers.

Grindelwald smirks at him, lifting his fingers to his mouth to clean them. Graves is still breathing harshly, his orgasm washing through him in gentle waves. “G - god…”

“I guess it wasn’t that good,” Grindelwald says cockily.

“Fuck.” Graves shivers. He looks up at his Sire, and he wants him, he _needs_ him. “Please, I, I need -”

“Oh, yes.”

Graves lies back as Grindelwald takes off his pants.  He shivers in anticipation, feeling cold without the touch of his Sire but so ready, ready for Grindelwald to take him, to claim him.  He is Grindelwald’s, and nothing could feel so good as the things Grindelwald does to him.

At long last he feels Grindelwald’s cock nudging against his entrance, thick and hot, and Graves lifts his hips up to meet him.  Grindelwald presses in slowly, drawing out the moment and letting Graves feel every inch of him.  His hole stretches, yielding to accommodate Grindelwald inside, and Graves tips his head back with a sigh. It feels so good. Grindelwald presses against his insides just right, filling him, completing him.

“Tell me what you want,” Grindelwald says, voice shaky. “Tell me, darling. I want to please you.”

“Move,” Graves says, “Please, _Sire -”_

And Grindelwald does.

He fucks into Graves hard, deep, filling him to completion.  Graves’ soft cock makes an effort to fill again and his hole twitches around Grindelwald, oversensitive, but it doesn’t matter.  All that matters is the way Grindelwald groans as Graves’ hole gives him pleasure, the knowledge that he’s obeying his sire, the way Grindelwald moves inside him. He tightens on purpose, making Grindelwald groan and slow down his pace, fucking Graves more deeply.

Graves moans with each roll of Grindelwald's hips, feeling his cock press against his prostate. It's not enough. “Harder,” he slurs, sharp teeth digging into his own lower lip and drawing blood. “H - harder, I want to feel - ah, _yes_ -”

Grindelwald follows his wishes. His thrusts shake Graves to his core, Grindelwald fucking him just right, just the way he needs, taking and leaving nothing.  Graves gives himself over to it, losing himself in Grindelwald’s hard rhythm.  He doesn’t know how he could ever have thought he wouldn’t need this, wouldn’t crave it with everything he is.  

He can feel his orgasm rising in him, and he rewards Grindelwald with hot, sloppy kisses when he can. Grindelwald fucks him right to the edge and then over, tumbling, pleasure cresting through him.  His hole tightens around Grindelwald again, spasming, and a moment later he can feel Grindelwald come as well, cock twitching within him and filling him.

“God. Magnificent,” Grindelwald breathes, his body slumping atop Graves’.  “Percival, darling… you feel so good.”

Graves makes a soft noise of contentment, exhaustion settling over him.  Grindelwald’s cock slips from his hole and he whines at the loss, feeling empty, wanting so badly to feel his Sire within him.  Grindelwald chuckles and draws him in close, pressing Graves to his chest as Graves curls into his arms.

Grindelwald moves them, and Graves doesn’t understand why until he feels his lips press against Grindelwald’s neck, and Grindelwald’s hand on the back of his head holding him in place.

“Go on, love. Take what you need,” Grindelwald says, his voice fond. “I love you, darling.”

Percival bites, gently breaking the skin of Grindelwald’s neck with his teeth. Blood trickles down his chin as he suckles and Grindelwald relaxes against him, comforted, satisfied. There’s a deep rumble coming from his chest and Graves realizes it sounds almost like a purr - he draws back, nuzzling his sire’s neck, smiling. Grindelwald is dozing off above him, eyes half lidded, body snuggled against Graves’, keeping him warm.

Percival continues drinking from him gently until he is sated, and he licks the wound to close it. He wraps his arms around Grindelwald, guiding him until the other man has his head laying on Graves’ chest.

He idly plays with Grindelwald’s hair, his mind clearer now that he’s fed. Grindelwald is sleeping, and the view should not make his heart swell with affection. He kisses the top of Grindelwald’s head, unable to help it, before closing his eyes. In that moment he only feels love and comfort, as if he were pulled under by a spell, only he doesn’t want to escape it. He’s never felt like this, and he never wants it to end.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MercurialTenacity: HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE! What better way to start off 2018 than with grindelgraves vamp fic? Enjoy :D  
> Kallisto : Happy New Year. May it bring you all the joy you seek :)

_Tina laughs.  The bed is an island of softness in the dark.  She melts into it, anticipation and contentment buzzing along her nerves, sighing with the feeling of skin against skin.  Graves smiles down at her, hands caressing her waist as she lies back._

_He so rarely smiles._

_She feels safe, everything moving slowly as sensations flow over her, blooming across her skin with each caress of Graves’ hands.  His touch moves up her body, warmth filling her.  Tina feels heavy, a comfortable weight sinking into her, and she doesn't want to move.  Graves’ hands find her breasts, cupping her gently, and she shivers in pleasure.  It's so good, so warm, and she wants more._

_Slowly she lifts her hands, bringing them up to lay them over Graves’.  His are soft beneath hers, gentle against her breasts, and she sighs._

_Her hand is on his cheek, touching him softly.  Her fingers trace little circles into his skin, stroking along his jaw, down to his shoulder._

_There's something warm and wet on her hand.  It shouldn’t be there and she frowns, looking away.  She doesn’t want to think about it._

_She wants to keep feeling nice, to be here with Percival - so close to him, so safe, so happy.  If she doesn’t think about it everything will be fine._

_The wetness drips on her breasts._

_She looks up and sees it trickling down his neck, rivulets of crimson._

_‘You’re bleeding’, she tries to say, but she can’t speak.  She presses a hand over the source, trying to stop it, but it only flows faster._

_He doesn’t seem to notice.  He doesn’t notice. He going to bleed out above her, god._

_Tina panics.  She clutches Percival’s shoulders, twisting on the bed as her heart pounds, fear and helplessness coursing through her veins. The heat of the bed is stifling, suffocating her, and every drop of Percival’s blood scalds her skin._

_“Please…” she manages.  Her voice is barely above a whisper but Graves hears her._

_He looks down at her and brushes a lock of hair from her face with bloodstained fingers._

_“Why didn’t you save me, Tina?”_

_His body is heavy over hers.  She can’t move.  She can’t breathe._

_“I trusted you.  I relied on you.”_

_He leans down as she lies there, unable to move, until they’re cheek to cheek.  His lips brush the shell of her ear and she can feel his breath as he speaks._

_“Why did you let him kill me?”_

_Tina stares upwards into darkness, unable to react as his teeth pierce her neck._

_She’s drowning in the scent of blood._

“Tina!  Wake up Teenie, please.  It’s okay sweetie, you gotta wake up -”

Tina opens her eyes into darkness and hot suffocation.  She’s trapped, struggling against the blankets wrapped around her and the sobs stealing her breath and God _, God, why -_

“It’s okay!  You’re gonna be okay - _Lumos!”_

The soft, magical light fills the room and Tina gasps, fighting towards full consciousness.  Her heart still beats like a drum in her chest, fueled by the adrenaline burning through her body. She clutches her pillow to her chest and sobs.

She feels a gentle hand on her shoulder and turns desperately towards her sister’s touch.

Queenie holds her as she cries. She is soaked in sweat. Her sister strokes her hair and speaks softly, and though it doesn’t help, exactly - it doesn’t help that she failed, that she let Graves be taken, that every minute is another minute he’s in danger - it does help her remember where she is.

She’s safe.

She’s home.

She tries to feel some comfort that it was a dream, a nightmare, but she knows at best that's only the partial truth.  It did happen, and Graves is still out there waiting to be found.

She squeezes her eyes shut, and all she can see is the shocked, slack expression on Graves’ face when Grindelwald finally bit him.

Queenie holds her and rocks her and Tina has never been so grateful to have a sister.  She knows Queenie sees everything, sees the way thoughts circle round her head and haunt her, and she can't begrudge that if it means she doesn't have to talk about it.  She doesn't know if she could bare to speak.

Dawn light is creeping through the curtains by the time she’s cried herself out.

“We’ll get through this, honey,” Queenie promises.  Her voice is soft, gentle, and she brushes a tangled lock of hair from Tina’s forehead.  She shivers and takes her sister’s hand, squeezing tightly.

She feels cold, clammy, sweat and tears drying on her skin uncomfortably.  She pulls back and rubs a hand over her puffy eyes, wiping away the last of the tears.

“I’m sorry,” she says.  Sorry she hadn’t stopped all of this when she had the chance.  Sorry for being such a mess.  Sorry for waking Queenie up in the middle of the night just to sob in her arms.

“No, Teenie,” Queenie says sadly.  “Please don’t.”

Queenie looks different like this, in the pale light of early dawn; her hair mussed from sleep, face clean of makeup, wearing only her slip.  Her face is creased with worry and care, and she is the kindest person Tina has ever known.

“I have to go to work,” she says, voice rough from crying.  Her throat hurts, and her head pounds.

“It’s five in the morning.”

“I have to, Queenie.”  

Queenie doesn’t fight her, doesn’t try to make her stay.  She just presses her lips together and says, “Eat something first, okay?”

Tina nods, though she’s not sure if she can.  Food feels like ash in her mouth.

She gets out of bed. She brushes her teeth.  She showers, letting the cool water pour over her skin.  It feels good, soothing her aching head, giving her a brief moment where nothing feels quite real.  She can pretend her world didn’t fall apart if she just concentrates on how the rivulets of water feel on her skin.

She stays until she’s shivering.  When she steps out she towels off roughly, the reprieve over.

_Why didn’t you save me, Tina?_

She wanted to. God, she wanted to. She'd never hated herself as much as she did, just standing there, while Grindelwald killed Percival, and gave him a new life all over again. She hated the dark wizard, too - always had, but now she wished she could squeeze Grindelwald's throat with her bare hands until he died, in agonizing pain. Perhaps if she did, then Graves would be safe.

She grits her teeth. Perhaps, if people were actually competent and managed to keep Grindelwald in prison where he belonged, then Graves would be _alive_.

But no. He is alive. She is sure of it. He had to be alive, they only had to find him and then things would be back to normal.

“I'm here, Percival,” she murmurs to her reflection. “I'm here. Hold on just a little longer, love.”

 

\---

 

When Graves wakes he is alone. Grindelwald left him on the couch, bundled up in a thick blanket to hide his nakedness and keep him warm.

He thinks he vaguely remembers Gellert leaving him, untangling himself from Graves’ arms and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, with a murmured apology. He remembers clinging to him instinctively, mumbling in confusion, and a soft laugh in his ears.

Grindelwald left. Graves doesn't remember when he said he'd come back - or even if he would. He sits upright slowly, a new fear buzzing under his skin. Perhaps that's what Grindelwald wanted to do to him.

Kill him, turn him, and then disappear - leaving Percival completely adrift and vulnerable and _alone_.

Eyes wide, he swallows and looks around the room, gaze falling on the low table in front of the couch. There is a glass set upon it, with a thick, red liquid inside with a scent that makes Graves’ mouth water. Next to it is a slip of paper. Graves takes it and unfolds it, staring at the words Grindelwald left him.

_Love,_

_I had to go. I will be back in the evening. Be good for me._

_GG._

It is not much, but it makes Graves feel warm again. Gellert never intended to leave him - he will be back. He will be back.

In the meantime, Percival doesn’t know what to do.

Without the searing hunger and Grindelwald’s presence, his mind feels clearer. He slowly gets up from the sofa, the blanket slipping from his shoulders to pool at his feet, revealing his nakedness. He bends to grab the glass of blood, inhaling deeply. It smells like _him_ , like Grindelwald, and Graves smiles to know his Sire left a piece of him behind for him to find.

The blood is still warm. Graves tastes it as he would old wine, swirling it inside his mouth so that the richness lingers on his palate.  It makes him feel calm, secure, and when he swallows a warmth blooms through his body.  He takes his time enjoying the gift his Sire left him, knowing that he’s been provided for.

When the glass is empty he regretfully sets it back beside the note.  As much as a part of him wishes he could simply curl into the blankets on the sofa and wait for Grindelwald’s return, he pushes that thought aside.  The haze that’s surrounded him for days has begun to lift, he’s alone in Grindelwald’s home, and he cannot waste this opportunity.

The robe he wore the previous night is draped over Grindelwald’s armchair, and he pulls it back around his shoulders to ward off the slight chill as he steps out of the halo of warmth the fire provides.  He needs to get dressed.

He finds his way back up the stairs to Grindelwald’s bedroom, able to take in more this time as he walks through the house.  It really is grand, thrumming with power infused through every brick and board.  He wonders what this place means to Grindelwald - is it truly his home, or a safehouse designed for the two of them?  Even after all the investigation, the infiltration, the information gathered, MACUSA had not located a place that Gellert Grindelwald called home.

Unease settles in his chest with the realization that not only does he not know what this place is, he has no idea _where_ it is.  Surely not New York. Would Grindelwald risk staying there?  Are they even still in America?  He has no idea how long he was unconscious after the Turning.  He could have been taken anywhere.  

Strangely, it is the disorientation which sets him on edge more than the thought of Grindelwald taking him.  He knows that if Grindelwald were here he could ask, and he might even trust the answer.

He has a moment of hesitation as he stands at the bedroom door, unsure if he’s willing to face what’s on the other side.  What he did in that room - he feels like a coward, but he doesn’t know if he can bare the reminder.  It makes a surge of emotion well up in him, sudden and painful, as he realizes that in the swirl of thirst, lust, and need, he forgot just what it was Grindelwald turned him into.  Not just his lover, but a killer.  

Throat painfully tight, Graves pushes the door open.

The bed is neatly made.  The duvet is turned down, spread out crisply across the mattress, and the pillows are stacked precisely.  There is no body.  No bloodstains.  There is nothing out of place, no indication of the violence which occurred so recently.  Graves tightens his jaw and turns toward the wardrobe.

For a moment he wonders where Grindelwald would have put the clothes he arrived in, before the memory of warm blood soaking through his shirt comes to mind.  Perhaps they can be salvaged.  Graves doesn’t know whether Grindelwald would even have tried.

Instead he opens the door of Grindelwald’s wardrobe once more, searching for the least ostentatious of his options.  Grindelwald’s clothes comprise a myriad of colors, fine fabric of reds, purples, greens. They are embroidered with shining thread sewn into the most elegant of patterns.  On a lesser man the clothes would perhaps overwhelm the wearer, but somehow for his Sire they seem _right._

Right for Grindelwald, yes, but entirely wrong for himself.  Eventually he pieces together a serviceable ensemble: a shirt of rich blue, and a black vest with swirls of silver threading, which matches dark pants.  It fits well enough.  The pants are a bit long in the cuff, but he and Grindelwald are of a size, and it will do.  The clothes smell of him, and Graves takes comfort in it.

Dressed, he feels more grounded.  He wants to see how Grindelwald lives, to get a sense of this man whom he knows only through the dizzying combination of instinct and government reports.

Yet when he turns around to face the room his gaze shies away from the bed.  _Get a sense of this man_. He has a sense of this man.  He’s a killer, a criminal who stalked Graves for months and strives to break down the very foundations of society.  Who knows what he is out doing at this very moment in service of his twisted cause?  In another life, Graves would be there to stop him.  Now, MACUSA is vulnerable.  Perhaps that was part of the plan all along, and having Graves to himself was just a pleasant side effect.

With a slow, sinking feeling he can’t help but wonder what it means to be so devoted to a man like that.  A charismatic, charming, selfish devil.  He’s the Director of Magical Security, is he not?  He was.  Regardless of his personal feelings he should be trying to ensure the safety of the people he serves.  He should be trying to escape, as much as it would tear him to pieces.

 _Escape -_ he isn’t even certain he knows what that means.  Leave Grindelwald, and do what?  Return to MACUSA, and hope they will forgive the monster he’s become? He has information they could use to find Grindelwald, to stop him.  Knowledge of his weaknesses perhaps, or his habits.  They could set a trap with Graves himself as the bait, and surely Grindelwald would come.

And then… what?  He harbors no illusions now. He can never return to his old life.  He could aid MACUSA, but he has no place there.  They could not let a vampire roam free.  He would be useful up to a point, and then decisions would have to be made.  Perhaps it would be the right thing to do, but he knows that he cannot act on this if he values his life.

He could flee.  Flee Grindelwald, flee the country.  He could take himself away from all of this, the whole mess, let MACUSA think him dead and Grindelwald know him gone.  There are places he might be safe, if he were careful.  He could go where nobody knew him and forge a new identity.

Or perhaps Theseus Scamander would help him, if he went to Europe.  They’d trusted each other in the war, relied on each other, and formed a bond not easily broken.  Graves misses the camaraderie.  They’d not seen each other in years, but they write, and Graves is proud to consider Theseus one of his closest friends.  

With a pang, he realizes he never returned Theseus’ most recent letter.  He’d put it off, let it get shuffled in among the papers on his desk, and now it’s too late.  The next Theseus will hear of him will be from MACUSA, writing to inform him of his death.  It makes Graves’ desire to find him swell, to tell him that it isn’t true, he’s still here, he’s still alive.  Yet even if Theseus did not reject him for the creature that he is, Graves doesn’t know if he could put him in the position of harboring a vampire.  Theseus is a hero, a public figure. Graves could not ask him to compromise that.

It may not even matter.  Perhaps Grindelwald would find him wherever he went and use the strength of their bond to lead him back.  Graves would let him.  He might even want him to.  Even now a seed of discontent sits in his mind at being parted from his Sire, and he has no wish to imagine how it would grow should they be separated by the expanse of continents or time.

Or perhaps - perhaps he cannot even leave the house.  

Surely Grindelwald wouldn’t risk his new darling running off, in the very way he’s just been contemplating.  Graves could hand him to MACUSA on a silver platter, not to mention the pain it would bring.  The very magic which keeps him safe could easily keep him trapped.  Graves had thought it was to keep others out, but he realizes now that it is just as much to trap him in.  The silent hum of magic stifles him, and he feels as though the air in the room has thickened.  He cannot fight this magic, sewn into the seams of the house itself.  Not alone, not without his wand - _his wand._  Is it still at MACUSA?  He doesn’t remember.  Helpless anger wells inside him, at Grindelwald, at himself, at nearly falling for the idea of life with this man who keeps him prisoner.

He has to know if there’s a way out.

He has no idea what he will do if he finds one, whether he would use it and much less where he would go. But he has to _know._

With newfound purpose he leaves the bedroom. When he reaches the bottom of the stairs once again, he turns right rather than proceeding to the sitting room.  The first thing he must do is discover what defenses he’s up against, and that means taking the most obvious path.  He is confident that Grindelwald does not mean to injure him; whatever enchantments he comes up against will be meant to deter, not damage.  It may be unpleasant, but Graves does not have time for games.

The short corridor leads him to a refined entryway and a broad, oak panelled door.  There are no windows, but Graves does not doubt that this is the door by which he would leave, were he at liberty to do so.

As he approaches it he swallows down his trepidation.  There is no point to anxiousness, though on some level he knows this goes deeper than a locked door.  

He is about to discover how much of a prisoner he truly is.  Some traitorous part of his mind tells him that it will be easier not to know; to believe that the door is unlocked, to wait for Grindelwald to come home, and to tell himself that he remains here by his own will.

But he cannot.  He reaches out a hand towards the doorknob, firm despite the slight tremor that runs through him.  He grasps it, the metal cool beneath his hand.  He can sense no hint of the spells which await him. Grindelwald has done his work too well for that.  He takes a breath and tightens his grip.  With a fierce determination, he twists the knob and pulls it.

There is a precarious moment in which the breath leaves him, bracing himself for the lick of magic in an instant which seems to last a lifetime.

The door opens.

The shock of it hits him more deeply than a spell ever could.  

He stands there on the precipice, looking out into a clearing where a soft rain falls.  Beyond the house in every direction are trees, save for where an old, rutted road cuts through them, leading away.  He can hear the patter of raindrops against leaves, smell the wet earth. Everything about the scene before him is gentle and alive.

Grindelwald’s enchantments against him do nothing, for they were never there.

As though in a dream, he steps across the threshold onto a wide porch.  The paint of the railings is chipped, boards broken, and when he turns he sees fallen siding, shutters hanging by their hinges, and panes of glass with fine cracks across their surfaces.  It looks for all the world like an abandoned manor house, once beautiful but long ago deserted and forgotten.

That, then, is Grindelwald’s magic.  No one would come looking for this house, and anyone who stumbled upon it would see only a derelict.  He has never been trapped.

He can leave.

He feels as though he stands at the edge of a cliff, his assumptions and his certainties and his anger crumbling down around him.  He could enact any one of his fanciful escapes.  He could disapparate and go to MACUSA.  To Theseus.  

Anywhere.

He sways, forced to steady himself with a hand on the worn doorframe.  He grips it as a solid grounding point.  He wasn’t ready for this choice.

He can go _home._  Home, not to his life but to his things at least, to his flat and his bed.  He could get his own clothes, his coffee mug, the small comforts which he misses, and lose himself in the security of the familiar if only for a little while, even if after that he ran.

But to do that would mean leaving his Sire.  

The ache at that thought throbs deep in his chest, and he bites his lip to ward it off.  Since he awoke Grindelwald has been nothing but kind to him.  He doesn’t understand why, but he has never felt so wanted, so cared for, as he does in Grindelwald’s presence.  He may rebel against the implications, and he struggles to reconcile it with who he knows himself to be, but he can’t deny it.

 _Be good for me,_ Grindelwald had said, and Graves _wants_ to.

Perhaps he doesn’t need to make this decision now.  If Grindelwald has not already trapped him, there is no reason to believe he will later.  Graves can leave at any time.  Besides - he would be a danger if he left.  

He’s already killed once, and he hadn’t even realized he was doing it.  If the thirst overcomes him again, he can’t say what he would do.  There’s so much he doesn’t yet understand, about himself and his instincts, and he needs to learn.

No, he can’t leave now.  Perhaps later, when he better understands his nature.  Perhaps.  But not now.

Slowly, with a sense of heaviness he cannot shake, he steps inside the house and closes the door.

 

\---

 

Grindelwald comes home late.

Graves feels him the moment his Sire is at the door, and he snaps the book he was reading shut.

He is outside the library in a blink. A needy whine rises in his throat as he dashes to the entrance of the house. His mind is only focused on one thing, his senses only on one person. Grindelwald is at the door, shaking his heavy coat off his shoulders, and he lets out a quiet “Ooomph” when Graves all but runs into his arms.

Percival is shaking, shivering, holding onto Grindelwald as if he was the last drop of water in a desert. Grindelwald’s scent fills his senses, quiets his mind, slows the staccato beat of his heart. His Sire is all around him, holding him. He feels complete once again.

“Hush, love, hush,” Grindelwald murmurs, his grip tightening on Graves’ shoulders. “Oh, how I missed you.”

Percival shivers. He can only agree with the words. Being away from the other man for so long was agonizing. He could ignore his distress at first, but for the past couple of hours all he could think about was the ache in his heart which Grindelwald used to fill when he was there.

Now, he is as close to alive as he can be once again. Grindelwald rubs his back soothingly, murmuring words in German under his breath which Graves cannot understand, but the sound lulls him. Gradually he calms down, his shivering subsiding until he feels stable enough to step back.

They don’t stop touching. Hands slip down from shoulders to hands, until their fingers are linked together. Grindelwald steps closer, inclining his head, and Percival meets him halfway. His lips are cold. The kiss feels like coming home, and Graves doesn’t want his Sire to leave him again.

Grindelwald hugs him, and Percival all but melts in his Sire’s arms, feeling warm all over, feeling comforted. He breathes deeply.

Grindelwald kisses his neck. Graves still bares the marks of his feeding, and he feels his Sire’s contentement at the sight echo through him. It makes him blush and squirm a little.

Grindelwald kisses him one last time before pulling away. He takes Graves in, eyes raking over his figure and taking in his new clothes.

“These look good on you,” he says gruffly, approving. “Not quite fitting, but… I love seeing you like this.”

Graves bites his lips, feeling himself flush once more in embarrassment. “Sorry, I didn’t ask -”

“No,” Grindelwald says, holding a finger to his lips. “This is your home as well.  You can borrow as many things as you want here. You look gorgeous in these. You look like you’re _mine_. Don't think I am unresponsive to the sight.”

Grindelwald leans down, brushing his lips against Graves’, before he passes by him. “Come,” he says. “Let’s settle down. I've had a long day.”

Graves can only follow, feeling weirdly flustered at Grindelwald’s last words and his loving actions. Merlin, he is in deep already, and the man’s smooth and honest words do not help him. How is he meant to fight this when he has never felt so important, so cared for? He doesn't know what is right anymore.

“Wait for me on the couch,” Grindelwald says. “I’ll be right back.”

The young vampire obeys, helpless to do anything but. He sits on the couch, licking his lips as he remember what happened here the last time they were together.

He doesn’t want sex, though. For now, all he needs is to be close to his Sire, to feel Grindelwald is here, with him. He’s been left alone for so long.

As promised Grindelwald returns quickly. He has divested himself of his coat, his scarf, his vest, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. He smiles at Percival as he crosses the room to settle down beside him, and Graves immediately snuggles against him. His weight makes Grindelwald fall back against the pillows with a laugh.

It takes a bit of shifting around until they are both comfortable. Grindelwald lies down on the couch, half propped up against the pillows at his back, legs spread to make room for Graves’ body. Percival rests against him, his back to Grindelwald’s chest, his head pillowed in the crook of Grindelwald’s shoulder. Gellert’s hands are wrapped around his torso. He noses at Percival’s neck, almost purring, glad to have his love back in his arms.

“Hmmm.” He sighs, his happiness echoing through Graves. “You smell so good, darling. Did you take a shower? Have you been good for me?”

“Yeah,” Percival murmurs, drowsy.

“How good?” Grindelwald kisses his neck, open-mouthed, making Percival shiver. “I’m sorry I left so abruptly. Did you find the library?”

Percival nods, shifting a little before relaxing again. “It’s incredible.  It must have an archive of spellbooks to rival the Graves manor.”

Grindelwald laughs, his breath tickling Graves’ hair. “Helps when you have hundreds of years ahead of you to collect books, love.”

Graves smiles, then frowns slightly in consideration.  His thoughts are whisked away when Grindelwald’s fingers find his waist, stroking the slight dip and drawing out an _“O-ohh,”_ after which he can _feel_ Grindelwald’s satisfaction, but when he can think again his mind returns to the conversation.

“How old are you?” he asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.

“How old do you think I am?”

Graves can hear him smile, and shakes his head. “In human years or in vampire years?”

“Both.” Grindelwald kisses his neck again, amusement lacing his voice.

“I don’t know. Three hundred?”

“Not quite, not quite. I was turned at thirty-six. But I have lived one hundred and ninety two years old.”

“Oh,” Graves says, wide eyed. “Merlin and Morgana, you’re younger than me,” he mutters. “Oh, this is weird.”

“Yes. Beaten by a young man,” Grindelwald teases. “How do we feel about that, Mr. Graves?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to calling you young,” Graves says, only to yelp as Grindelwald bites the nape of his neck gently in retaliation. “Oh - _ooh_ , fuck.”

“Mind your tongue, darling.”

Silence falls again, but it is comfortable. Grindelwald touches him, stroking his sides, his belly through his shirt, and Percival arches back to meet him. He turns his head, eyes closed, making a low, interrogative sound. Grindelwald promptly takes the offered invitation and kisses him.

They map each other's mouths slowly, languidly, until Graves’ neck begins to crick. He settles down again with a sigh, feeling utterly warm, comforted, safe. More so than he has ever felt when he was still human.

He thinks of how he wanted to leave, and almost laughs. Why would he ever want to run away from this - from being _adored_.

“I almost left, you know,” he ends up telling Grindelwald after a while. His Sire’s movement’s still, and Graves feels a pang of fear echo through him. He hadn’t wanted to upset his Sire, he’d only felt the need to be honest. He quickly turns around, kneeling in front of Grindelwald to cradle his face gently, meaning to reassure him. “But I didn’t. You let me have a choice,” he says, a hint of a question in his voice as though to ask _why?_

Grindelwald sighs and looks away, covering Percival’s hands with his own. “I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner. It’s not what you are - not here, not with me. I love you.”

Graves startles but he knows it, deep in his core.  He can feel the strength of his Sire’s love, and his chest tightens with guilt that he nearly betrayed it.  He knows now that he could never do that.  As difficult as it may get, as different as their lives are, they will face it together.  He never wants to be alone again.

He drops his head, folding in against Grindelwald’s chest, needing the reassurance of his Sire.  Grindelwald pulls him in, holding him tight as he nuzzles into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Shhh.”  Grindelwald quiets him, cupping his cheek and stroking a gentle hand through his hair.  “I know this isn’t easy for you.  I have gained only happiness, but you had a life.  I understand if you miss it.” Grindelwald strokes his fingers along his jaw, gently lifting his chin until their eyes meet.  “I only hope that in the end, you find that you have gained more than you lost.”

Here, in this moment with his Sire, he thinks that perhaps he already has. He doesn’t say it, but he does press closer, closing his eyes and drinking in his Sire’s love until it is all he can feel.

He knows how he feels. But he is not yet ready to say it aloud, to take that irrevocable step.  It is terrifying.

He knew letting Grindelwald take him meant he would change - that was why he fought it so hard - but he never imagined it would mean losing himself like this. _Feeling._ Feeling so much for a man he would have sent to the death chair without a second thought two days prior.

He doesn’t know what’s happening. He is helpless to fight it. And he doesn’t want to, not anymore.

But he is not ready to let go of his past, not yet. He is not ready to let go of who he was as a human being, not ready to let go of what he felt was right for so long. Saying those three little words back would mean being pulled under, completely. There would be no way to come back. He doesn’t know if he is quite ready to take the plunge, not yet - even as he feels in his bones that it is the right thing to do.

It is all dizzying, and confusing, and he is tired of thinking.

“I love you,” Grindelwald repeats once more, quietly - perhaps hoping to have it returned.

Percival doesn’t reply.

Even as Grindelwald guides him upstairs to lay him down gently on the bed, he doesn’t dare say it. Even as Grindelwald shifts them so Graves is lying above him, even as he guides Percival’s mouth to his neck and lets him feed - mouth open on a sigh of pleasure - he doesn’t say it. Even as Grindelwald smiles at him after, dazed and vulnerable, and the sight makes Percival feel warm all the way down to his toes - he doesn’t say it.

It is only later, much later, in the dead of night, Grindelwald’s arms wrapped around him from behind and his even breaths filling the silence of the room, that he says it out loud, ever so quietly. And it makes him feel good.

But he can’t let anyone else know. Grindelwald is warm against his back, something solid to lean against.

Percival closes his eyes, and lets himself fall.

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoyed it ? Leave a comment. It makes all the difference in us wanting to write more for the fandom. :)
> 
> Updates on Wednesday every two weeks.


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